I was looking through a poetry file for something else this morning when I came across this: a poem I wrote during the early days of dating the man I would eventually marry. I’d forgotten about this one. Now, after having been married to Michael for nearly 24 years, I can barely remember ever feeling so insecure about our relationship. For some reason, this sweet relic of our past really cheered me up.

Tuesday

When I come back from lunch(where I’ve smiled and talked of you)I rest my hand upon the telephonewondering, as I do each week,if librarians ever take flirtatious phone calls.Or would it make you blush before an ancientwhite-haired woman who needs your help decidingbetween Jane Eyre and Ben Hur?By Tuesday I no longer feelyour warming arms around me—four more days to crawl throughbefore you hold me once again.I’d only have to call you,hear your voice across the wire,for the memory of your kisses to return,but I will not dialfor fear of a white-hair woman.